‘Lads!’ calls Dad as we get up and go over to him. The three of us stand a bit awkwardly for a moment. Eventually, Dad says, ‘Erm, how about you’s two come and see me soon, eh? Middlesbrough versus Luton? I can get tickets?’

I have never been to a proper football match before and nor has Seb, whose face splits into a big grin. His favourite goalkeeper plays for Middlesbrough.

‘Awethome!’ He puts his arms round Dad and then recoils. ‘Dad! You … erm … you don’t smell too good.’

Dad’s brow furrows and he sniffs his hand. ‘Sorry, pal, I know. I’ve had this strange smell clinging to me all morning. Since I woke up, in fact. I’ve had a shower, honest!’

I step forward and sniff. ‘Crocodile guts,’ I say and his head jerks round as he stares at me, open-mouthed.

‘What? I … I had a … I can’t remember, but …’

‘You had a dream about being inside a crocodile?’

‘Erm … yeah. How did you know that?’

I shrug. ‘Just a guess, Dad. I daresay the smell will wear off, though.’

He looks at me closely. I don’t want to tell him more, not yet, anyway. Mam calls us to hurry up, and Dad laughs and gets into his car.

‘I hope you’re right! Boro v. Luton. See you then!’

Chapter 87

I’d only been back at school a couple of days and already I was standing in Mrs Farroukh’s office. This time, though, I was not in trouble. Susan was there as well.

‘You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,’ said Mrs Farroukh. ‘But I am going and you will be welcome to join me.’

That’s how, three days later, Susan, Mola, Mrs Farroukh and I are among a dozen or so people at Holy Saviour’s Church for Kenneth McKinley’s funeral. Kez Becker is there too, with Dennis slumped under the front pew.

‘Bless him,’ says Andi, looking round the empty pews. ‘Poor old Kenneth really didn’t have anybody, did he?’

In addition to us, there’s a couple who lived in the flat above Kenneth who Andi knows slightly, and another carer called Rosemary who did Andi’s days off.

In the centre of the church is Kenneth’s coffin with a tartan scarf draped over it. I have seen the coffin before, of course, but here it is much less spooky. I have never been to a funeral before, but this is fine. The vicar, a lady with a deep voice and a nice smile, says some prayers, and then looks to the back of the church. We follow her gaze, and from the furthest pew comes an old man with a big white moustache, walking slowly with a straight back down the aisle.